


Poetry Makes Nothing Happen

by StealthKaiju



Series: Reflections on Ice and Darkness [4]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Animal Death, Dear gods Jack just wants Pitch right now already!, Light Angst, M/M, annoying interruptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 18:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealthKaiju/pseuds/StealthKaiju
Summary: Title taken from W.H. Auden, “In Memory of W.B. Yeats” (1939)Jack and Pitch are definitely courting. Wooing.  A thing.The Guardians are going to find out some time though, right?Warning: Bad poetry.





	Poetry Makes Nothing Happen

_Beware the monster’s teeth, the beast’s claws,_

_The hydra’s poison, the wyvern’s jaws._

_Beware the fiend living under the bed;_

_But beware most the one in your head._

Pitch looked down at what he had written and sighed. That wasn’t romantic, was it? How hard was it to write love poetry? Pitiful humans - apes with delusions of grandeur, with no blood to the brain as it all went to their engorged genitals - could write love poetry, so why was he having such a hard time of it?

 

He rolled out his shoulders, took a deep breath. A thought began to bubble away, a whisper in his mind, and he raised the pen to quickly write the words that came to him.

_I do not know the man I killed,_

_Or quite what I did it for;_

_Yet, here is the axe in my hand,_

_And that’s his head on the floor._

 

Dear gods! What was that supposed to be? It was meant to be a love confession, not a…not an actual confession!

 

He let out a growl of frustration, only to hear a soft laugh from behind him. He turned in his chair to see Jack leaning against the doorframe, insouciant, blasé and oh so beautiful. If Pitch had warm blood and a heart to move it, it would have caused him to blush. ‘How long have you been there?’

 

Jack walked over to him, cold air shifting around him. ‘Not long. Enough to see you scribble away, then get all annoyed over it.’ He stood behind Pitch’s chair, one hand on the back, the other slowly scratching his nails through Pitch’s hair (oh gods, that felt good). ‘What are you working on?’

 

Pitch contemplated lying. Or telling Jack to mind his own business. Unfortunately his brain seemed to stop working – it usually did when Jack was in close proximity to him – and he blurted out ‘poetry’ before he could stop himself.

 

Jack’s fingers stilled in his hair. ‘Really?’ he asked, his voice a curious lilt. ‘Can I read it?’

 

Pitch closed his eyes. ‘They’re just a few lines, random bits… they’re not good.’

 

Jack moved so his head was next to Pitch’s, and whispered in his ear. ‘I still wanna read it.’ Pitch shook his head softly, but Jack just leaned in closer. ‘Please?’ he said sweetly.

 

Pitch handed him the piece of paper. ‘Begging is unbecoming,’ he grumbled.

 

Jack took the paper and gave him a wink. ‘Something tells me you’d want me to beg,’ he quipped, skipping away before Pitch had time to change his mind or ask what he meant. He read it, his mouth shaping the words under his breath.

 

‘I like them,’ he said, smiling at Pitch. ‘They ideas for nightmares? ‘

 

Pitch smiled. ‘Sometimes I write things down, helps me shape thoughts.’ He gestured to a large leather bound book open on the desk, beautifully illustrated. ‘Other times I read bestiaries and folklore. The human imagination is so wonderfully twisted – it comes up with so many things to discomfort and terrify itself.’ He tapped the open page. ‘Japanese folklore for example, beautiful and chilling.’

 

While Pitch was distracted, Jack had pocketed the paper in his hoodie pocket. He walked to stand by Pitch again, eyes on the open book. ‘”Manekute no Yurei – the inviting ghost hand”. What’s that exactly?’

 

Pitch smiled. ‘That is _relatively_ harmless. If you wake in the middle of the night, maybe get up to get something, there might be a hand beckoning you from behind a door, but the room is empty. That is the Manekute no Yurei.’

 

Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘What are they after?’

 

Pitch spread his hands. ‘A lot of unquiet spirits in stories have unfinished business, have had traumatic deaths, or need help passing over. Maybe they want someone to say a prayer for them.’ His voice grew softer. ‘In some stories, they just want recognition.’

 

Jack placed a hand over one of Pitch’s, fingers snaking along his wrist. ‘I can empathise,’ he replied quietly.

 

There were a few seconds of silence, where they just held hands. Pitch slowly raised his other hand to lightly touch Jack’s cheek. He traced a line down his face to under the chin and slowly pulled, coaxing Jack to follow.

 

Pitch could kiss Jack for hours. He had – long (too short) hours after sunrise and before sunset. Exploring that sweet coldness of Jack’s mouth, that taste that he craved, feeling Jack’s quickened pulse under his fingers…

 

Jack, small and light as he was, found it easy to manoeuvre himself between the chair and the desk, sitting on Pitch’s lap. He pulled himself closer to Pitch, wrapping his arms around him, hips moving and shuffling –

 

Pitch gave a slight yelp into Jack’s mouth, and Jack broke away from the kiss to laugh softly into Pitch’s neck. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured, without a touch of remorse. ‘I kinda get a bit carried away.’ He started kissing Pitch’s neck slowly, tongue lazily drawing circles on the skin. ‘Just really want to…’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised genuinely. ‘I keep rushing you. I don’t mean to.’

 

Pitch placed a hand on Jack’s torso, the other playing with the hem of his hoodie. ‘I didn’t say stop,’ he muttered, a touch of petulance, and slowly drew Jack towards him.

 

There was a slight jingle of sleighbells coming from the staff that Jack had left in the corner. Both spirits looked towards it, seeing the staff glow a bright iridescent blue. Jack sighed. ‘Looks like I’m expected elsewhere.’ He kissed Pitch forcefully, cutting off any protest from him, and then hopped off his lap. ‘Still okay to meet tomorrow night?’ he asked.

 

Pitch nodded, shaking off his disappointment (and also relief). ‘Of course.’

 

Jack smiled. ‘See you later,’ he called, and then he was off.

 

*

 

He was trying very, very hard not to lose his temper.

 

Bad things happened when he lost his temper.

 

The room had become colder, and was becoming colder still. The other Guardians drew their arms around themselves, and the workshop elves huddled in small groups.

 

Frost began to flow like water down Jack’s staff and over the floor, and a freezing wind whipped at their clothes, a burning brand on their faces.

 

‘Jack, please, we’re just concerned-‘ Toothiana implored.

 

‘We’re concerned you’re a bloody idiot!’ Bunny snapped, stamping a foot in irritation. ‘It’s the bogeyman, what exactly did’ya think you were doing?’

 

Jack’s voice was dangerously soft. ‘Sandy was the one spying on us. Why don’t you ask him?’

 

There was a manic jingle as a myriad of images flashed over a very guilty-looking Sandman.

 

Jack sighed. ‘Sandy, what were you doing? And gods, why did you tell everyone?’

 

North crossed his arms, a steely look on his face. ‘Do not be angry at Sandy, he was following you and Pitch to check on Pitch. He saw you…’ his hand waved awkwardly, ‘… he saw you, and he told us.’

 

Jack leant on his staff, but it was with an affected casualness. Tension run through every line of his body, and he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet.

 

Bunny tried a more sensitive, tactful approach. ‘It’s just… listen ya bogan, you’re an irresponsible twit, who has no idea-’

 

Jack pounded his staff on the floor then rose several feet in the air. ‘THAT’S ENOUGH!’ he shouted, voice as loud and cold as hailstorms.  A grey light, the colour of a winter dawn, pulsed around his body. ‘You have no idea of anything, do you?’ he sneered, ice blue eyes staring at each Guardian in turn. ‘You have no idea what I’m like, do you? What Pitch is like, not really.’

 

He slowly lowered to the floor, and the frost retreated back into the staff. The air became warmer, the winds stilling.

 

Jack looked down at the floor, his face devastatingly blank. ‘If this isn’t official Guardian business –and my personal life is not your business – then I don’t see the point of being here.’ He walked to the window and jumped out.

 

He did not bother to look back.

 

*

 

Pitch felt someone Calling him. With a capital C. It was old magic, quite powerful, causing the feeling of an iron hook pulling at his stomach.

 

It was ignorable. He could carry on, pretend it wasn’t there, until the caller stopped. He followed the link, sensing snow, and ice, and… toys?

 

It was one of the Guardians, Calling him, from a shadowy part of the Antarctica, a neutral territory for both. Pitch was angry, affronted and insulted, but more curious than anything. He flowed from shadow to shadow, until eventually he reached an icy desert to find North waiting for him.

 

‘You Called.’ Pitch stated, his words dripping acid.

 

North crossed his arms. ‘I am surprised you came. But glad.’

 

Pitch remained several metres away from the Guardian, trying to stay as calm as possible. Were there others? He couldn’t see, hear or sense anyone.

 

‘Just me. No fighting. I only wanted to talk,’ said North. He sighed. ‘About Jack.’

 

Pitch bared his teeth. ‘That does not concern you,’ he hissed.

 

North bowed his head in a conciliatory gesture. ‘No, it does not.’

 

Pitch’s eyebrows creased together. ‘What?’

 

North spread his hands. ‘Let me tell you a story.’

 

Pitch folded his arms. ‘Really? You’re really doing this?’

 

North continued, his voice whimsical. ‘Many years ago, when I was human, there was a woman I was in love with. So very much in love with.’

 

Pitch rolled his eyes. ‘You know, I’m starting to think a fight might be preferable.’

 

North went on, his voice grandiose. ‘She is so smart, and sharp-tongued. And cooks wonderful food! Anyway, one day I am walking with her, and it is a cold, cold winter. And we are far from the village. And a wolf comes.’

 

Pitch is intrigued despite himself. ‘Wolves?’

 

‘No,’ North replied, holding up a solitary finger. ‘A lone wolf. Desperate. Mad. Very dangerous.’ His twinkly eyes turned sly. ‘He is designed to be part of a pack, then is all alone… it turns him quite insane, da?’

 

_Ah, subtle as a brick through a window_ , thought Pitch.

 

North continued. ‘Anyway, I think to myself, “I must save my lady”. So I gather my courage, and reach for my sabre,’ he paused, leaning forward. ‘Except, my lady love, who I am so worried about protecting, by this point she has already got her iron skillet out of her bag, and she whacks the wolf!’ He claps his hands together, sharply.

 

Pitch scoffed. ‘She hit it?’

 

North beamed happily. ‘Oh, da. She hits it very hard. Several times. It is a mess, brains and blood all over the snow. It is revolting! I lose my breakfast!’

 

Pitch laughed, surprising himself. ‘And what happened after that?’

 

North’s eyes widened. ‘She turns to me and she says, “Help me carry that, we might be able to salvage some mittens out of the pelt.”’

 

Pitch laughed harder. ‘Very sensible woman.’

 

North nodded enthusiastically. ‘Da, da. And there I am thinking that _she_ needs _my_ protection, when all the time, _I_ need _hers_.’

 

Pitch paced a few steps. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asked warily.

 

North’s face fell. ‘Because we may have assumed that we knew better than Jack does. That Jack needs protecting when he does not.’ He sighed wearily. ‘I look at him and I see a boy, but he is not. He is more powerful than you or I.’

 

Pitch’s hands clenched and he felt a horrible stabbing cold in his gut. ‘Did he…did he say anything about…?’ he began.

 

North waved a hand. ‘No, Sandy happened to see you both kissing. That is all we know, and we will not pry again.’ He jumped slightly. ‘Oh, and to show how sorry I am, I have present.’ He pulled a small glass globe set on a black stone base out of his pocket and placed it on the ground. ‘Merry Christmas!’

 

‘It’s the middle of July.’

 

‘Then either I am very early or very late!’ North countered, and then with a swish he was gone through a portal.

 

Pitch spent a long time wondering whether it was safe to approach the object, then finally stalked up to it. Picking it up gingerly he peered inside.

 

It was a snow globe – _how gauche_ he initially thought - with two figures holding hands in the centre. One was very tall and the other smaller, delicate. There was a small gold button on the base, which he pressed. There was a soft whirring sound as cogs moved and metal hit metal, but music started to play, and the two figures began to twirl, locked in a perfect elegant dance.

 

Pitch recognised the song. _Dream a Little Dream of Me._

 

Perfect, really.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
